


Scorned

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, First Time, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein a woman is scorned and something happens. Takes place after Sen Too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorned

**Author's Note:**

> I can thank Jane Mailander for her wonderful Jim/Blair dog snippets, which inspired this story! 
> 
> Originally published in 2000.

**Scorned by Alyjude**

 

He cowered in the deepest, darkest corner of the alley, body quivering, heart racing. Was it safe yet? Dare he venture out? Try to make it to the loft? To Jim?

He curled into himself, trying to listen, trying to determine if it was safe.

*****

Okay world, this is angry. Are you watching?

Jim Ellison - angry.

He strode to the balcony, anger and impatience in every line of his body. He pushed open the windows and stepped out. Late again. The game would be starting in twenty minutes and Blair was late again, no doubt due to a woman.

"Damn."

He was going, period. Without Sandburg. He stomped back in, grabbed his stuff and made damn sure he slammed the door. Yeah, so effective on an empty loft.

***** 

Silence.

Safe? He could hear no gravel crunching underfoot, no other breathing besides his own labored panting.  He should try now. He peeked out slowly, tentatively and found the alley empty. Now. His chance was - now.  He unfolded his cold, cramped limbs, gave a little shake and slunk from his corner.

He'd run. As soon as he was sure, he'd run the whole way.  He was sore, but he could do it. He peered around boxes until he could see that the street appeared clear. It was time.  He took off. 

He shot out of the alley, onto the street, ignored the vehicles, the horns blaring at him, the screeching brakes as he zigzagged around cars, onto the sidewalk and finally he opened it up, legs pumping and he could see their building and he was almost there.

But no truck, no - Jim.  And he didn't have keys, and...

The lobby, at least he was in the lobby.  He skidded to a stop, gazed frantically around, need to hide--needed to hide, until Jim came.

There, in the corner, the dark corner, he curled up tightly and waited.

***** 

Jim's fingers drummed an angry melody on the steering wheel as he waited in traffic. The fingers slowed.

He should go back. Blair would have called; something was wrong. He checked his left mirror, there was an opening, and he signaled, shot over, made a hasty left, u-turned and headed back.

He pulled up in front of the building and damn, no Volvo.  Fuck. What an idiot he was.  He climbed out of the truck and headed inside.

***** 

Footsteps. Angry footsteps. Jim's footsteps.  Blair uncurled himself, stood, and waited.

Jim strode in and over to the elevator.

Blair bounded over, thudding against him.

***** 

Jim could smell Blair, as if he were close.

"Whoa! What the hell? He glanced down to see what hit him. "Hey, little guy, where did you come from?”  His voice trailed off.

Leaning against his leg was a small, reddish brown terrier but what caught Jim's attention were the two earrings gleaming up at him from the silky ear and around the shaking dog's neck, a leather cord, the beads · exactly like Blair's.  And, and, dear lord, those eyes - those - blue eyes?

"Good God."

Blair spoke.

"Yip."

***** 

Jim cocked his head. The small dog cocked his.

Jim tilted his head in the other direction. The dog did the same.

Earrings.

Necklace.

Blue eyes.

Okay, how many small, reddish-brown-golden curly haired terriers had blue eyes? Any? Jim didn't think so. No, definitely not. But the alternative... On the other hand, this pup was wearing his partner's jewelry so the clue to his missing partner.

"Nice doggy."

"Yip." A paw was lifted delicately and placed on Jim's shin. Then the paw pushed.

"Nice - Blair doggy?"

"Woo-woo!" The paw pushed again.

“I’ve learned to accept sentinels, guides, and Molly the ghost, so now I get Sandburg the transmutted guide?”

The dog flopped down on the floor and covered his eyes with his paws.

Jim sighed.  “Okay, you’re right; this is no time for puns.  You’ve been transmuted and this is serious.  I’m sorry.”

He bent over to scoop up the dog, but the puppy, guessing his move, made a daring leap and landed in the crook of his arms, still squirming, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

"Yes, well. Upstairs then."

*****

Holding the dog under his arm, he inserted the key and turned. As the door swung open to reveal the loft inside, the dog began to wiggle, the result of a tail happily out of control.

Jim stood stupidly inside as the door shut behind him.

He had a dog in his arms. He gazed down at his floors. After three years, Blair Sandburg still wasn't housebroken, so what chance did his hardwood floors have against the canine version of said partner?

Still uncertain and somewhat stunned, Jim set the dog on the kitchen table. No, he didn't know why, except - his hardwood floors. He loved them.

He sat down and studied the dog who was looking back at him with anticipation.

So - how?

Jim shook his head. If he was asking how, he must to some extent believe that the fleabag in front of him was indeed Blair. Viewing the phenomenon from his detective persona, the evidence was somewhat, maybe, kind of - irrefutable. Sort of.

Unless he was hallucinating; a sensory weirdness that only the weird Sandburg could figure out. But Sandburg was apparently a dog at the moment.

He could be going insane. How long had he lived with Sandburg now? Going on four years?

Yes, insanity was a distinct possibility. Not to mention years of lusting after said roomie, of solo salami-slapping while fantasizing about the whacky, weird and wonderful Sandburg.

Could it be possible, he wondered somewhat abstractly, that masturbation didn't cause blindness at all, but actually caused a canine fixation on the object of required masturbation?

Enough already, he needed a Plan of Action.

Okay, while waiting for sanity to return, he'd play along, find a cure, restore his partner and then take the salami-abstinence pledge.

"Um, was this an accident, Chief? Some weird anthropological translation gone awry?"

The dog had been sitting on its haunches, head cocked, ears up as he watched Jim think, but at the question, he crouched down, growled and nipped Jim's thumb.

"O-kaay, so this wasn't an accident?"

The pup sat up, his tail wagging happily as he gave another woo-woo.

Note for veterinarians everywhere; Woo-woo obviously meant yes in dogese. Assuming that the dog actually understood him.

Sure, why not.

"So something happened to you?" Another low growl told him, *duh and you've only got it half right*. Well, he wasn't Detective of the Year for nothing.

"So, some one did this to you?"

Another woo-woo and a small jump told him he was correct.

"One of your many juggled girlfriends, Chief?"

"OW! You bit me!" Again. "Fuck, you're touchy as a dog."

Said dog promptly nail tapped his way across the table to place his paw on one of the books sitting open on the table. Jim stared at the book, then at the dog, then back at the book and a marquee lit up over his head as a memory struck.

"Uh, Chief, you were tutoring someone tonight, right?"

This time he got both a woo-woo, a yip and a slide as his paws danced on the tabletop.

"So she did this? Your student?" Now the dog started dancing on his hind legs, moving in circles until he got dizzy, and fell over.

"Ouch, that had to hurt. But I'm guessing I got it right in one." Then Jim froze as the import of what he'd just said made it into the important part of his brain.

A student at Rainier had turned his partner into a dog.

A dog.

She'd turned him into a dog. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Someone had actually turned Sandburg into a dog.

Jeezus.

A terrier. His partner was some sort of mutt-like terrier. With earrings. And his necklace. No clothes, but his jewelry. Weird. Oh, yeah, like he needed to make that observation. As if someone would think it were normal? Well, maybe the student.

"Was it accidental, Chief?"

Head down, ears back and another fierce growl told Jim it was no accident.

"She did this on purpose?" He asked incredulously. A menacing growl directed at the absent student said yes.

"So what did you do this time?"

Jim realized the moment the words left his mouth that he'd made a mistake. He fully expected another bite so was surprised when the dog's eyes grew impossibly round and seemed to fill with tears.

He'd just hurt the feelings of a dog.

No, he'd just hurt Blair's feelings - again.

"Shit, Chief, I didn't mean it that way. Of course you didn't do anything to warrant this or any other action. You were just doing a favor for another TA.  I'm sorry."

Blair dropped down, legs splayed out, chest heaving.

Damn, he looks cute. Jim shook his head, trying to dislodge the fact that he'd just said Blair looked cute - as a dog.

"Chief, why did she do this?" Good idea, move back into detective mode.

Blair sat back up, hope in his blue puppy dog eyes. (And wouldn't that expression take on a whole new meaning in the future?)

With surprising grace, Blair trotted almost seductively over to Jim and, in a move that could only be called sexual, he dropped into Jim's lap and began to nuzzle Jim's crotch.

Frozen and stunned is my world, Jim thought. Okaaay. Blair is nuzzling my crotch. Nice. But he's a dog. And he's telling me something.

"She came onto you?"

A smothered woo-woo floated up to him. "And you turned her down, being the responsible TA that you are." No woo woo followed, just harder nuzzling. A new way of saying yes? He could handle that. Hell, he was about to slide out of his fucking chair.

His body actually did slide as his bones started to disintegrate which was when he came to his senses - all five heightened senses. He grabbed the nymphodog and stood so abruptly, he overturned the chair. Bringing the mutt nose to nose, he stared. And received a lick for his troubles.

"Oh, sure, now you kiss me - with tongue. Where were you a few weeks ago when wet dreams were the order of the night? Huh? Answer me that?"

"Yip." The tongue snaked out again, but Jim plopped the animal, no plopped _Blair_ back down onto the table before he could get smacked by dog slobber.  Blair or no Blair, dog slobber was dog slobber and a rose was a rose, but for a dog, he had excellent breath now that Jim thought about it.

Blair sat down and promptly rolled over onto his back. His head tilted back, ears flopping backward, paws scratching the air.

He fucking wants me to rub his fucking stomach. No way in hell, Jim thought even as his hand reached out and started to rub. As he rubbed, he asked, "Okay. So, this student morphed you. How?"

Blair growled even as one paw shoved Jim's hand lower on his tummy.

"I should know this?"

"Woo-woo."

"Swell, I should know this. Okay," Jim mused, "She had something magical? Like a wand, maybe?"

Shit, the dog actually snorted. And damn if it didn't sound exactly like the patented, "Left your brains by the bed?* Sandburg snort.

"Okay, no wand. No thing. What does that leave? Oh, wait spells. She cast a spell?"

Blair was up and dancing immediately, nails tapping the tabletop.

"Yes, that would be a yes. Spells. So she's a witch?"

"Woo-woo."

Jim sat down - hard. It was catching up to him.

He was having a conversation with a dog.

Who'd been his partner until a witchy-woman scorned turned him into a four-legged flea trap that apparently understood English, liked his crotch and smelled pretty damn good.

Jim Ellison needed to commit himself. Happy Dale Farm, maybe?  A small, rough, pink tongue scraping the stubble from his cheek brought him back. He turned his head and found himself staring into the blue depths of his partner's eyes and as he stared, he saw sadness. A deep, soul wrenching sadness. The small furry head butted up against his arm and buried itself in the folds of his shirt. Blair was trembling.

"Jesus, Chief. Jesus."  As the sounds of their city swirled about them, Jim Ellison sat at his kitchen table petting a forlorn and shaking terrier named Blair Sandburg.  Jim wasn't quite sure when it had happened, but somehow Blair had wound up curled in his arms, silky head still buried in the crook of Jim's arm, but now his whole body was burrowed into him, curled into itself and still trembling.

And when had Jim started to pet Blair?

The loft was in darkness, the only illumination being the lights from Cascade. Jim looked down at the small body and shook his head. "Blair, what are we going to do?" he whispered, his voice tinged with a bit of fear and a great deal of wistfulness.

He hadn't expected his words to be heard, but the small head lifted and his eyes had no difficulty seeing the wide blue orbs staring so trustfully up at him. Shit.

"Okay, somehow, you need to find a way to tell me who this woman is. Can you do that?"

The tail started to wag, thumping against his forearm and it felt ridiculously good. Blair started to wiggle in his arms so Jim stood and placed him back on the tabletop. Blair promptly trotted over to his books, bent his head, and nudged some over and away until only a thin, small black book was left. With his teeth, he grasped the edge and began to tug, doggy butt in the air, tail saluting Jim, who couldn't help his response to the sight. He laughed. A good, solid belly laugh.

Blair dropped the book and whirled to face the laughing Sentinel. His eyes narrowed, his small, furry dogface scrunched up, lips curling back over small, sharp teeth and he growled. A low, deep rumbling growl. A warning growl. But Jim ignored the threat, his laughter uncontainable.

One silky ear lifted, followed by the other as Blair got an idea.  He lifted one of his back legs.

Jim caught the movement and puzzled, tried to stop the laughter as tears rolled down his face. What the heck was Sandburg trying to tell him now?

Blair growled again and lifted the leg higher.

Jim got it.  Fuck.  "Now wait one minute, Sandburg. You eat off this table too. Don't even think about it. I mean, I'm sorry I laughed, but damn, you just looked so cute, tugging on that book, your little butt in the air... um, well, maybe I shouldn't," embarrassed, his voice trailed off.

The leg slowly dropped back down as Blair snuffled into his muzzle, the small golden brown hairs around his chin wuffling with the movement. He turned his head back to the book and made a small chuffing sound. Jim, feeling that he was forgiven, reached over and picked up the book. Blair's address book.

Wouldn't you know it would be black?

"Okay, Chief, are you telling me she's in here?" He tapped the book as he asked.

The curly head shook impatiently. How Jim knew it was an impatient shake was up for grabs. But he knew. And if her name wasn't in this book, then someone who knew her was.

"So, someone who can help identify her is in this book?"

"Woo-woo!"

Jim sat back down and opened the book.

"Okay, I'll flip the pages and you stop me when I get to the right page, all right?"

"Woo-woo." Blair trotted over to him and plopped down by his arm, one paw resting on his wrist, his head cocked expectantly. Jim sighed and began to turn pages. When he got to the f's, Blair pawed him.

"Hey, careful there, that's sentinel skin you're trying to scratch off and I take it that meant I should stop in the f's?"

"Woo-woo."

"Okay, I'll say the names; you stop me when I say the right one. And this time, just woof." He rubbed his wrist absently, then started reading names. When he got to someone named Susan Fielding, he heard a strong, commanding woof, a sound almost wolfish in nature. It got Jim's attention immediately.

"So, Susan Fielding. She can tell me?"

"Woo-woo," Blair said excitedly. Jim nodded, pleased that they'd come so far. He got up, picked up the phone, brought it back and dialed the number from the book. A few moments later, a lovely, low voice answered.

*Hello?*

"Ms. Fielding?"

*Yes, this is Susan Fielding.*

"My name is Jim Ellison and I...."

*Of course, you're Blair's partner. What can I do for you?*

Slightly taken back and wondering if he'd met her at one the many soirees Blair had forced him to attend over the years, Jim stuttered a bit in his answer. "Well, I, if you, I mean, would you know who Blair is tutoring tonight?" He finally finished, lamely.

*No one that I know of, but he was tutoring Mindy Collins earlier this afternoon. I can't honestly stand her and Blair kindly took over for me.*

"Do you have an address for this Mindy Collins?"

*Um, sure, just a minute. Detective Ellison, is something wrong?*

Not sure what he could possibly tell her, he decided to lie. Man, he'd been around Sandburg way too long.

"No, nothing."

*Okay.*

There was a muffled sound, then;

*Here it is. Mindy Collins, 1666 Coven St. number 13A. Do you need her telephone number too?*

"No, this is fine. And thank you, Ms. Fielding. I really appreciate this."

*Oh, my pleasure. We all know how much you mean to Blair and I must say, you two make a perfect couple.*

A perfect couple?! He and Blair? Oh shit.

"Yes, well, thank you again."

They said their good-byes and as he put the phone down, he gave a hard look at his partner. Who immediately sneezed.

"Bless you. You twit."

Blair sneezed again, his small head shaking, his ears flopping.

"Are you catching a cold?"

"Woo-woo."

"I should have guessed. No twenty layers of clothes. What am I supposed to do? Put one of those little doggie sweaters on you?"

Blair growled and lifted his leg again.

"Hey, don't get snippy with me. I hold your life in my hands right now. Not to mention your future meals. Feel like a little horsemeat, puppy?" Jim taunted, while sitting back and away since he was fully expecting another bite. But all Blair did was to - let loose.

"Ah, dammit, Blair," he muttered, even as he hurried into the kitchen for a ream of paper towels and disinfectant.

Blair finished and trotted over to the far edge of the table, lifting each paw delicately, ensuring that he didn't mess his fur. He sat down, tail swishing and watched with a fully satisfied air about him.

Jim mopped up the small yellow mess then spent over twenty minutes disinfecting, disinfecting and more disinfecting. Blair snorted several times and for his efforts, got a spray of the stuff aimed in his direction. He blinked a couple of times, sneezed again, then using his paw, he swiped at his face.

Jim put the paper towels into the trash, tying the bag and setting it just outside their door. He put the Lysol away and stood glaring at the animal on his table.

"Just for that, Sandburg," and he pounced, capturing the dog before he could move. He held the now squirming animal up and away from his body as he walked resolutely over to the balcony. He pushed open the window and set the dog down. "You act like a dog, you are a dog. You can just stay out here, you mutt."

He was about to close the window when Blair, using his superior brain power and smaller size, scooted past Jim with a graceful leap back indoors and ran full speed ahead up the stairs to Jim's bedroom.

"OH, NO YOU DON'T YOU MONGREL!" And the chase was on.

The chase lasted all of one minute which was the time it took for Jim to scramble up the stairs and skid to a stop in the middle of his room where he found Blair poised and ready to strike again. Right smack dab in the middle of Jim's bed.

"So, this is war, is it?" Jim's eyes narrowed and unconsciously his body hunched forward, ready to spring into action like the feline predator he was.

Blair responded in kind. He lowered his head, curled his lips, and snarled.

Jim took one threatening step forward. Blair growled low in his throat.

Jim took another step forward, his own growl matching Blair's. Blair's front paws began to dig into the bedspread, as small sounds of anger filled the room.

Jim took one more step, and yowled.

Blair lifted his back leg again.

Jim froze.

"You couldn't possibly be able to go again, not after that load you dumped on the kitchen table."

The leg lifted higher.

Jim quickly raised both hands in supplication.

Shit, it was bad enough to lose to the kid when he was human, but as a fucking dog? He'd never live this down.

"Okay, I'm sorry. That crack about the doggie sweater was way out of line. I apologize." He put every drop of sincerity into his voice, but the leg didn't budge.

"Okay, I maybe shouldn't have said anything about horse meat. And I probably shouldn't have tried to put you outside. That was wrong and selfish and insensitive."

The leg remained steadfastly at attention. Jim wracked his brains.

He dropped his head in shame. "I should never, never have called you a mongrel. Or a mutt. That was beyond reprehensible."

He lifted his head slightly, just to get a quick peek and the leg was lowering slightly.

"I'm an anal retentive jerk who isn't good enough to lick your... shoes. I don't deserve you, I take you for granted and don't appreciate you nearly enough." The leg moved no lower.

"And of course, I realize the seriousness of this situation and we still have to find out how to get you back into human form."

The leg dropped a bit more.

"I mean, this is totally unacceptable. How dare she turn my partner into a dog? She'll pay, Chief, I promise. And we will get to the bottom of this."

Blair sat down and sneezed again. He lowered his head and gave a little yip.

Then, before Jim could move, Blair toppled over.

*****

Jim sat in a corner, the small, shaking bundle in his arms wrapped snugly within the confines of Blair's blanket. He gazed dazedly about him at the other patients and owners and shook his head as if trying to wake up. This had to be a dream. Had to be. There was no way he was sitting in a veterinarian’s office with Blair, as a dog, wrapped up in his arms and sick. No way.

"Mr. Ellison?"

Jim stood, the body curled up in the blanket trembling even harder than before. In a stupor, Jim followed the green clad assistant into the examining room.

Jim carefully unwrapped his shaking partner as the doctor entered the room from the other door.

In the short time since Blair's collapse on Jim's bed, his breathing had worsened as had his sneezing. Now he burrowed into the folds of the blue blanket that surrounded him, his small whimpers tearing at Jim's soul.

"Well, Mr. Ellison, what seems to be the problem with," he glanced at the chart in his hands and finished with, "Blair?"

"I, well, we were, um, kind of, well having a game of chase, so to speak, and he ran upstairs and just collapsed. I bundled him up and shot right over. You can help him, right?"

"I'm sure we can, Mr. Ellison. But there seems to be some information missing from his chart. Can you tell me how old this pup is?"

Jim did some quick mathematics in his head and piped up with, "He's about four and half years old. About."

"Um, looks a mite younger. Very puppyish. Must get lots of exercise.   Keeps a dog young."

"Uh, yes, loads of exercise. Never stops moving, actually. Talks up a storm too."

The good doctor smiled in appreciation and as he put the chart down, he began stroking the silky soft fur even as practiced fingers investigated. Blair wasn't able to stand without wobbling so he lay by Jim's arm, his head resting on Jim's open hand, those blue eyes closed in weariness and pain.

Dr. Schmidt put on his stethoscope and checked Blair's heart and lungs, frowning as he did so. "I'm going to have to turn him; I need to check his eyes, ears, nose, mouth and throat. I'll be careful."

Jim helped and together, they got Blair scooted around on the stainless steel table. The doctor lifted Blair's head and turning it, checked one ear, then the other, got his mouth open with some difficulty, peered inside, checked his teeth then lifted his eyelids and took a step back.

"Um, he has blue eyes. I don't believe I've ever seen blue eyes like that on a terrier. Or for that matter on any dog. I mean, there are blue-eyed dogs, but not on a terrier and not blue like these. This is amazing."

"Yes, well, Blair is an amazing dog. Very special, you know?"

"Yes, I can see that. Well," the doctor humphed importantly, "Let me get on with this. I'm going to take his temperature, so if you'll just hold him."

He turned and picked up the thermometer, shook it, lifted Blair's tail and took aim.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!?!" Jim screeched in abject horror as Blair whimpered piteously.

"I'm, well, naturally, Mr. Ellison, I'm going to take his temp."

"Well, for heaven's sake, do it the normal way. You trying to scar him permanently? He'd never recover from such an indignity!!"

Dr. Schmidt shook his head in bewilderment. He'd seen a lot of weird owners in his time, but this guy took the cake. "Mr. Ellison, dogs and cats will bite down on the thermometer and that could kill them. Now, just let me do my job and we'll find out what's wrong with your pup."

"Excuse me, Dr. Schmidt, but my dog will not bite down on that thermometer." Jim puffed out his chest and added, "He's special. Now just stick the god damned thing in his mouth and take his temperature."

The doctor began to shake his head and to lift the tail once more, so Jim simply took the thermometer from his hand and said, "Open wide, Chief."

Blair opened wide and Jim rested the thermometer under his tongue as Blair closed up. He waited. The doctor waited, stunned.

After two minutes, Jim repeated, “Open wide, Chief", and once again Blair opened and allowed Jim to remove the thermometer and hand it to the doctor.

"Um, it would appear - I mean, evidently, your dog is running, what would appear to be, the equivalent of a human fever. I'd say about 102."

"And that means?"

"Well, I'm going to need to check out a few more things, take blood and let's hope this isn't distemper. He has had all his shots, yes?" Jim lifted his chin stubbornly and answered, "Of course."

Jim wondered if having shots for all sorts of third world diseases counted?

As the examination progressed, Blair seemed to worsen. His trembling increased as did his whimpers. Jim actually felt tears threaten as the thought of all that they'd been through in the last years and that maybe, this was how-- _NO!_

Jim shook his head and muttered, "No way, Jose."

"Did you say something, Mr. Ellison?"

"Um, no, nothing. How is he, Doc? He definitely appears to be getting worse to me."

Dr. Schmidt stepped away from the table and the small bundle of shaking fur, reached for something, then changed his mind.

"Mr. Ellison, I must be honest here. I've checked him and everything seems quite contradictory. His responses are very unusual and well, I'm puzzled. I think it best if you leave him with us overnight, let me do some more tests and hopefully I'll have an answer for you in the morning."

That was all Jim had to hear. He gently rewrapped Blair and lifted him into his arms.

"No way is he staying overnight. No way. He hates hospitals. And in a cage? Nuh-uh. Ain't happening."

"Mr. Ellison, his condition is serious. Critical even. In spite of the contradictions in the test results, my best guess is that your dog is dying. Let me help."

"SO YOU CAN PUT HIM DOWN? I DON'T THINK SO, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!"

With those words, Jim strode out and never looked back.

He couldn't start the engine right away, his anger almost palpable, his hands shaking. He needed to calm down, stamp down his fear and gather his wits. Blair was in his lap for the simple reason that Jim was afraid to separate from him in any manner.

As he petted, stroked and calmed, he kept up a litany in his brain. He isn't dying, he isn't dying, he isn't dying. But Jim knew Blair was dying. 

Was it part of the spell? Like maybe if he wasn't returned to human form in so much time, he died? Or maybe the puppy body simply couldn't handle the human contained within? Or maybe he'd seen too many horror movies as a child? Or he'd been around Blair and his open mind too long?

A whimper floated up to him and he glanced down to see pain-filled, dulled blue eyes gazing at him with so much trust and so much love that it took Jim's breath away.

With shaking hands, he started up the truck and soft music from the radio filled the cab. He started to turn it off, but the words of the song stopped him.

_All the while you were in front of me, I never realized, I just can't believe I didn't see it in your eyes._

It had been there all this time; Blair's love for him and he hadn't seen it. Been completely blind and deaf to the proof that stood beside him day in and day out. But not seeing it in Blair hadn't stopped him from crashing into love himself. And like the song said, he had crashed into it. It hadn't been slow and easy and gradual, no, it had been hard, tumultuous and fast. And sometimes - like now - painful.

God, so painful.

He would not lose this. Would not lose him.

Not again, not ever again.

"It'll be okay, Blair, I swear it. I'll find, no, we'll find a way out of this and you'll come back to me and our lives will be as they should be."

A tired, but hopeful woo-woo was muffled into his leg. He smiled.

They would beat this.

Didn't they always? Damn right they did.

He pointed the truck in the direction of Mindy Collins.

Somehow, someway, this would end tonight.

*****

The building that housed Blair's witch was a very small, unassuming quadraplex on the west side of town. He parked in front and sat in the truck staring up at the building. "I'm not sure how to do this, Blair. I'm afraid to take you inside, but don't want to leave you here, alone and sick." He looked down at his partner, hoping for an answer. "Tell me what to do, please?"

Blair struggled up, his body swaying slightly as he tried to perch all four paws on Jim's right leg. The blanket fell around him and he bravely lifted his head and gave a weak yip.

"Okay, we do this together. Like there's any other way? Not for Ellison-Sandburg, right partner?"

"Woo-woo."

But somehow the idea of walking into that woman's home with Blair in his arms didn't appeal to Jim. He needed another way.

His gym bag.

"Chief, I think it would be better if she didn't know that I know what she did, okay? So how about I put you in my gym bag? It's in the back and I can make it nice and comfy, okay?"

"Woo-woo," came the tired reply.

"Right then." He placed Blair on the seat, climbed out, reached back and grabbed up his bag. He took everything out, placed the blanket inside then carefully lifted Blair and tucked him in. He fit perfectly. Snug as a Blair in a rug.

"You okay in there? Plenty of air?"

"Woo-woo."

"Okay, here we go. And don't make a sound."

*****

He knocked on 13A and was wondering how a building with only four apartments could have an apartment 13 and was that number 13B across the hall when a young woman of about twenty answered.

She was lovely, Jim acknowledged, in a cold kind of way, with jet black hair, pale, creamy skin and dark, dazzling blue eyes.

"Yes?"

"Mindy Collins?"

"I'm Mindy. And you are?"

Her voice when she spoke was reminiscent of Blair's. Silvery, low, and guidelike. The richness of it surprised Jim but he found himself almost  _hurting_ because of it. As if her voice was the same but the opposite of Blair's. One was good and healing, the other - well, the opposite.

"I'm James Ellison, Blair Sandburg's roommate? I believe he was tutoring you today?"

"Yes, Mr. Sandburg was here earlier today, why?"

"Well, he hasn't come home yet and I was worried and remembered his tutoring job and thought maybe his car, well, his Volvo is not exactly dependable. I take it, he's not here?"

"No, Bl-Mr. Sandburg left hours ago. He was in quite a hurry actually." She grinned and that smile sent shivers up and down Jim's spine.

Jeesh, she was a piece of work.

"Would you mind if I used your phone then? He might be home by now."

"Of course, it's right over here." She walked to a small table by a half-door that appeared to lead to into a small kitchenette, lifted the cordless phone and handed it to Jim.

As he dialed, he gave a sneaky shove to his bag, effectively shifting it further behind him.

He let the phone ring, let the answering machine pick-up and stood silently as Blair's spiel regarding Detective Ellison being unavailable due to his need to detect dirt on the ants that might trek inside his pristine home and Mr. Sandburg being unavailable because he was having too much fun watching Ellison catch ants was followed by the requisite, "At the sound of...."

When he heard the beep, Jim said, "Sandburg, pick up, it's me." He waited, showing just the right amount of impatience and worry, then shrugged helplessly at his hostess and finally hung up.  "Well, I guess he's still not home."

Making a show of fluffing up the pillows on her paisley couch, Mindy smiled benignly and said, "Probably had a hot date. You know how our resident Lothario can be."

"He might have been a Lothario once, Ms. Collins, but now he's a one man - man and I'm the lucky man."

Her expression was all that he could have hoped for in dropping his little obfuscating bombshell. Maybe if she thought there was a damn good reason for his turning her down, namely that he liked men, well, maybe she'd undo her spell, maybe.

"I didn't realize. I mean, he's so - so..."

"So?" Jim asked in his most helpful voice.

"You know. So male."

Jim winked and nodded. "Yes, I do know."

Mindy actually blushed. But the blush turned suddenly ugly as her face took on a look of disgust.  "I should have known," she sneered, "And believe me, that certainly explains a great deal about the great Mr. Sandburg."

He was about to shoot back a retort when a whine from somewhere behind Blair's witch filled the small apartment. Mindy hurried to another door and opened it. As the interior of the room on the other side of the door was partially revealed to Jim, he used everything he had vision wise to investigate.

He glimpsed candles, a large draped mirror and a small shelf below the mirror. On the shelf were dozens of jars full of things Jim didn't even want to guess about, but he'd bet a year's salary that Blair would know every item.

Concentrating his sight on the room, he failed to note the huge animal that bounded out and headed straight for Jim.

"HEEL MACHO, HEEL!"

The animal thudded to a stop and sat, head up, nose quivering as the creature sniffed the air.

"I'm so sorry, Detective. This is my dog, Macho Man. He's a bit - protective." Then she smiled a particularly cold smile and added, "Blair didn't like him at all."

In spite of his size and skill, in spite of the gun tucked into its holster, Jim backed up as the monster slobbered before him.

"Um, beautiful animal. I don't recognize the breed."

"Bull mastiff."

Jim's eyes widened. He was well aware of bull mastiffs; the department had several in their K-9 unit, but this animal was huge.

"Your dog seems to be, quite a bit larger than most I’ve seen."

"Yes, he does, doesn't he." Her smile was the same cold grin she'd given a moment before.

Suddenly, the bull mastiff lowered its head and began to growl. The sound was enough to raise the hair on the back of Jim's neck. It was the most gruesome sound he'd ever heard.

"I'm sorry; he doesn't usually act like this.  He seems to be interested in your gym bag. Maybe if you'd lower it and let him sniff, he'd know it was harmless."

Jim was feeling uneasy, his skin prickling, his senses spiking. This was no walk in the park and it was time to face her down. "I don't think so, Mindy. My partner wouldn't like that."

Puzzled, she said, “Your partner?"

"Um, yes.”  He shifted the bag to the other shoulder thus giving him access to his gun, then added, "My partner, Blair. And he'd appreciate it if you'd change him back and by the way? So would I."

She could have hemmed and hawed, played innocent, but instead commanded, "Macho, PROTECT."  The dog stood at attention, ears back, teeth barred, but he didn't move. "I think you should go, Detective."

In one swift, fluid motion, he pulled his gun and leveled it on the dog's head. "I don't think so. Change him back - _now_."

Casually, Mindy glanced at the slim, jeweled watch on her left wrist. "Detective, Blair has been in canine form for over six hours now. He's dead." She gazed steadily at him, a small, satisfied smile on her pale, cold face. "I don't actually like to kill. I let my spells do it for me. And he knew that all he had to do was come back. He knew that after five hours - poof, he'd be dead. Of course, if I'd known about you two, I'd have simply turned him into the most despicable creature I could think of and then I'd have stepped on him, not tried to keep him."

The tiny beating heart in the bag told Jim she was lying. Blair was still alive, but for how long?

"If he's dead, then you should have no problem turning him back. Do it."

"Not possible. Once the soul is gone, it's too late."

Neither one of them noticed the barely perceptible movement of the mastiff. He'd begun to edge closer to Jim and closer to the bag.

His growls deepened and Jim, finally noticing, stepped back and commanded, "Call him off - _now_."

"My, he is interested in that gym bag." Her head tilted slightly and her face brightened. "Well, I'll be damned. He's in the bag, isn't he? That's why Macho is so interested. A nice tasty morsel for his supper."

The bag began to jerk against Jim's shoulder as a small array of growls greeted them. The sound was all the mastiff needed. He charged.

At the moment the behemoth charged Jim, teeth headed straight for the detective's throat, Blair literally flew from the bag, his much smaller body tumbling like a cannonball to thud against the side of Macho Man. The two dogs rolled, fur flying, until the great dog shook wildly and with one fierce sweep of its powerful paw, sent Blair reeling. The terrier rolled into the far wall but was up almost immediately, head shaking.

The mastiff whirled and with one strong thrust from its hind legs, launched itself back at Jim.

The distance was too close and Jim couldn't get his gun back up in time. His back was against the wall and he had nowhere to go. He was about to become dog meat.  What Jim didn't see was Blair. The small pup lowered his head, his eyes narrowing as he dug into the carpet with his front paws and with ears back, pounced.

Mindy's scream had to have been heard around the world as a small, reddish brown terrier with angry blue eyes latched onto her ankle and bit down hard.

His plan worked. The bullmastiff, hearing his mistress' cry for help immediately whirled mid-air and did a masterful job of redirecting his huge body.

At the same time, Jim attempted to take aim on the beast, but Mindy began to move her hands and Blair, seeing her fingers moving and hearing her strained voice as she muttered, "si, mung chuff, devar..." immediately released her ankle and with a jump that only a terrier or Blair could have pulled off, rose effortlessly into the air and latched onto her wrist.

Jim couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Mindy's screams had grown and she was now shaking her right arm, trying desperately to dislodge the Blairgnat attached to her wrist while at the same time, Macho Man was trying just as desperately to get his jaws around the wiggling matt of fur.

In Mindy's efforts to dislodge Blair, she swung her arm back and slammed the dog into the wall. A horrifying yelp rose from Blair as his body connected and with a sickening, almost surreal slowness, his poor body slid to the floor in a heap.

Thick, bright red blood was dripping from Mindy's wrist onto the white carpet and the mastiff seemed to be fascinated by it. He moved slowly forward, his nostrils flaring.

Mindy backed up, her other hand clamping down hard on the injured wrist.  "STAY, MACHO, STAY!"

But the dog continued its slow progression, stopping once, head lowering, and tongue flicking out to lap up droplets of blood.

Jim felt his stomach churn as the need to empty it almost overwhelmed him. But his concern for Blair overrode the morbid fascination for the tableau before him. Keeping his gun trained between the dog and the witch, he moved quickly to Blair's side and kneeling down, he placed one hand over the barely moving chest.

"Come on, Chief, stay with me here." But there was no response. "Blair?  Come on, don't do this to me."

Even as Jim spoke and tried to coax Blair into waking up, the bull mastiff was closing in on Mindy, eyes never leaving the trail of blood now seeping through clenched fingers.

"Stop him, Detective, please stop him."

Jim glanced up, saw the naked fear in her eyes and said, "Change him.  Now."

She shook her head desperately and pleaded, "Please, I can't change him, I swear it. Please, stop Macho, stop him."

Jim might have moved at that moment except that the body under his hand ceased all movement.

No rise and fall, no sound - nothing.

***** 

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore. Or Cascade, or the jungles of Peru or the forests of the great Cascades. Hell, we're not even in Mindy Collins' apartment anymore.

And why the fuck am I talking to Toto? There ain't nobody here but me and I'm not even sure about that. Although, I do feel like me. Taller, less hairy, more - human. So where am I?

This is, like, so unfair. Hell, even at the fountain I got a forest and I was a wolf and a damn attractive wolf if I do say so myself. But here, now - nothing.

Void. Black hole. No sound, no movement, zip. Jeesh. Who did I tick off this time?

*YOU'RE A GOD DAMN SHAMAN, DO SOMETHING!*

What? What did you say, Jim? I'm a Shaman? Do something? Oh, man are you wrong. I'm no shaman. Do something indeed. Like what, Oh Great Sentinel? A little mumbo jumbo? Wave a headless chicken over my head and Voila! I'm human again? Jeesh. He can be so anal sometimes. Like I haven't said that before.

*He is correct, Guide.*

Okay, who said that?

*You are a Shaman.*

And this happened when?

*I passed the path to you when I died, and when you died, you crossed over. You now have the power. If you wish to live, to rejoin your other half, use it.*

Incacha?

*Yes, Guide.*

Well, I'll be damned.

*Not yet, Guide.*

Hot damn, you have a sense of humor too? Well, I'll be - never mind.

*You have provided me with many laughs, Guide. But stall any longer, and you will know true loneliness.*

And just like that - it hit him. The horribleness of it. The emptiness of it. Loneliness. Life without - er, death without Jim. Darkness, cold, yawning just beyond him. He shivered.

What do I do, Incacha? How do I fix this?

*It's internal. And external. Have I confused you enough yet?*

No, try a little harder.

*Humph. Now listen. You are already out of body. Get it?*

Oh, maaaan, you are impossible. Were you this cryptic with Jim at the Temple?

*Yes.*

And damn if Blair couldn't hear the smile on Incacha's face.

Okay. I'm already out of body. Oh, goody. So, I just... go back. No, wait. If I go back, I'm a dog. So, her spell can't, like, bind me if I - I'm a shaman. So that means I've had the power to change all along.  Me and Dorothy Gale.

*My work here is done.*

And don't we sound proud of ourselves?

*Yes, and your sarcasm isn't appreciated. If you had any idea of the difficulty you two men have presented.*

Oh, well. Pardon me. NOT!

*Guide, just go back. NOW!*

Jeesh, I'm going already.

Touchy Shamans.

*****

No heartbeat.

Blair was gone.

But that was impossible.

Around him, an apartment. A city. A woman about to be attacked by her own dog. And all Jim could concentrate on was the small, lifeless body of one dog.

Anger welled up inside of him. Anger that Blair was giving up. Had given up. "YOU'RE A GOD DAMN SHAMAN! DO SOMETHING!"

His wild yell froze Macho Man in his tracks and even Mindy took her eyes from the animal salivating in front of her to give Jim a wary glance.

Jim bowed his head, his body trembling in sudden realization that this time, this time Blair was gone and wouldn't be coming back. The loss that hit him was stronger, harder, and harsher than the morning at the fountain. Because this was senseless? Because Blair was a small helpless, defenseless pup? Because Jim had - had - laughed?

Jim shot an angry glance back at Collins and realized that even as a pup, Blair hadn't been so defenseless. Always ready for the attack, using whatever means at his disposal. A fire hose, baseballs, his brain, or his canine teeth.

The sorrow welled up, threatening to engulf him.  "Please don't go. Come back, please. I need you so god damned much, you asshole."

***** 

Okay, you can do this. Concentrate. It was just a simple spell, nothing that can bind a Shaman, let alone Jim Ellison's Shaman.  Reach deep, Sandburg. The knowledge, the ability is there.  Dig... find... use....

GOT IT!

Oh my, this is going to be good.

***** 

Jim felt it in his fingers first.  A small tingle.

Not life, not breath, just this - tingle.

He frowned. Not like the fountain. No energy surge, no light, no Incacha. Just this tingle.

And now, electricity. The hair on his arm was standing straight up.  He opened his eyes to see the reddish, golden fur under his hand start to swirl and eddy, almost as if water were running through it. He lifted his hand away which tore him up, but something, something was happening.

Jim fell back on his butt. The fur was now lifting, moving, separating.  

His eyes widened as his gaze was drawn up with the swirling colors now revolving around what had been a small, broken terrier. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Blair's witch, and her expression told him she was not the one doing this. He gave a worried look at Macho Man and almost smiled. The huge monster was cowering and whimpering in fright.

Back to the mystery unfolding before him and he gasped out in awe. The blinding colors. God in heaven, so beautiful, so magnificent. Small bursts of pale greens and blues, every shade known to man plus reds, pinks, purples, yellows and oranges, all bursting like miniature fireworks, tiny pinpricks of light charges, bathing the apartment in surreal mutations of the rainbow.

And the noise. The gentle popping sounds as each tiny shower of color broke open. So sweet in its musical chorus. Like rivers flowing and streams bubbling over rocks, and small silvery falls of water pouring over stones and....

Blair's voice. The music, the popping, the rush of gurgling water - all Blair.

There was little left of the terrier now, but slowly, ever so slowly, building from the ground up, a human form began to take shape. Jim remembered as a child watching The Thief of Baghdad with Sabu and how the genie looked as he swirled from the magic bottle. The body, circling up... taking shape, taking form.

But that genie had nothing on the vision Jim was staring at with mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking.  The body was Blair's. But softer. Not yet fully formed, the hair spreading out like tree limbs reaching for the sun, the bursts of firecrackers giving it life. The arms were reaching out, fingers grasping, almost,,, asking for permission? Help?

And god, his face - so pure, so angelic and dammit, Blair would kill him if he said such a thing to his face. But hell, it was true.  Blair looked exactly as Venus must have when arising from the sea. Well, except Blair was a guy. And yes, Jim could see that point very clearly at the moment. Very clearly.

Venus - Schmenus. This was Blair Arising From the Sea and damn, it was magnificent.

The colors were deepening as Blair's form solidified, as life pumped through him, blood flowing now, heart thudding in his chest and Jim felt the tears tracking down his face, tears of such immense joy and pride and love that he almost passed out from the weight of it.  Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet, his heart begging him to reach out and grab, take that one hand that was so close to his, pull Blair into him, but his mind said no, not yet.

Jim waited.

The incredible fireworks show was gradually fading away and the apartment was returning to normal. The musical popping was a distant memory and all that remained of the beautiful light show was Jim, Mindy, Macho Man and Blair.

A naked Blair.

Who opened his mouth and said, "Fuck."

Blair stood against the wall, his eyes blinking in confusion. He turned his head, blinked some more. His vision was blurred, but a large form suddenly blocked what vision he did have.

"Jim?"

"Chief?"

Jim finally did what he'd wanted to do from the moment Blair had started to take shape; he drew him into his arms.  "God," he breathed into Blair's hair.

They held on to each other as if the world about them was crumbling and only by clinging one to the other could they survive. 

Blair breathed in Jim's scent, experienced those strong arms around him, almost cradling him and he gave into the sensation. Let his body almost fall into Jim's. God, this felt good. He was whole, he was human. He was in Jim's arms. Might only be for now, but considering he'd just died again, now was enough.

Jim's hands couldn't stop moving down the slender body, up, down, smoothing, stroking, convincing, feeling the muscles, so deceptive in the man, but there and sinewy, and felt so damn good and smelled so fuckingfantastic and the hair, brushing his chin, soft, frizzy at the moment, but definitely not dog fur.

"God," Blair breathed into Jim's neck.

The minutes slipped by unnoticed as both men held on. But the deep growl of the animal behind them finally forced their separation. Jim whirled around, his back now protecting Blair even as the detective realigned his gun and aimed at the massive head. But Macho Man had no interest in the two men now that the fireworks were over. His attention was back and riveted to the blood still dripping from Mindy's wound.

Blair followed the hound's gaze and found Mindy staring at him in astonishment.

"How, how did, you, how...,” she stammered out.

Blair stepped around and away from Jim and said quietly, but with some deserved superiority, "You're a witch. But I'm a shaman." Then he placed one hand on Jim's arm and added, "I'm _his_ Shaman."

She must have known what a shaman was because she shut up and started edging toward the door that had imprisoned Macho Man. As she moved, Macho Man moved. And as they moved, Jim moved, his gun following.

Mindy stopped a few inches from the room with the mirror and the jars, then spoke. "You can't stop me."

Blair let one eyebrow rise, "Stop you from what?"

"From this." And she bolted.

Before any of them could move, she was opening the door, sliding in and slamming it shut. As Jim reached for the handle, the smell of sulfur filled the apartment. They both heard a large SNAP and Jim quickly got the door open to find -

...an empty room.

***** 

"Uh, Chief? Should I ask?"

"Better not, Jim. You won't like the answer."

"She's gone."

"Yep."

"No window."

"Nope."

"No other exit."

"Right again."

"But she's not here."

"Nope."

Macho Man chose that moment to push between the two men and sniff the room. When he'd sniffed everything, he trotted back to Blair and sat down on his foot.

"The dog is sitting on your foot."

"Yeeep."

"Gotta hurt."

"Yeeeep."

"I should probably move him."

"Yeeeeeeep."

"Yes. Well. He's big."

"Yeeeeeep."

"Okay, okay, I'll push."

Jim literally had to put his shoulder to the dog and heave. As soon as he did and the dog shuffled off, Blair started hopping around the room on one foot, the other clasped in his hands.

"YE GODS."

Jim just smiled and watched. It was quite an attractive picture, actually.

But then Jim saw Blair's back where he'd hit the wall.

"Jesus, Chief."

Sandburg collapsed on the small chair in front of the mirror and shelves, still holding his foot and blowing on it.

"What? What?"

"Your back. You're badly bruised."

"Well, at the moment the only thing I feel is my god damned foot. I think it's broken."

"Here, let me see that." Jim knelt down and Blair obligingly stuck out his leg. Jim let his hand run gently around the foot.

"No, nothing broken. Gonna be bruised though."

"Bruise schmooze. Hurts like hell."

"So brave, Sandburg."

"Shut up. Can we go home now?"

Jim glanced around the room from his spot at Blair's feet and shook his head.

"Sandburg, we have a missing person. How do we explain that?"

"We don't. No one will report her missing and no one will report our being here."

"Oh, really?"

"Your sarcasm is deafening."

"Well, pardon me." Jim stood and carefully slipped his arm around Blair's waist and helped him stand. "We're just supposed to walk out of here? And forget everything?"

"Hey, you're the man, what do you think? And did you notice the address?"

"Of course, stupid."

"Oh, really? So what is it?"

"1666 Coven Ave."

"And?"

"And nothing! What is your point, Sandburg?"

"It's a coven of witches, Jim. This small building is a coven. No one will report her missing. And trust me; no one will miss her at Rainier."

For a few seconds, Jim's mouth moved much like a carp's. Open, close, open, close. Then he finally gave a little shake of his head, the *I'm a Sentinel, so why does that mean I have to believe every ghost, witch, goblin and spirit guide that comes my way, just because my guide says so* shake and it was really not a little shake at all.

"Fine."

Typical, thought Sandburg.

Together, they moved toward the door until Macho Man stopped them. Well, he really didn't stop them as much as simply stood in front of the door. He cocked his head to the left and waited.

"He doesn't want to be left here, Jim."

"Tough cookies, Chief."

"Jim...."

"It's a coven, Sandburg. He's a witch dog; they can take care of him."

"Jim...."

It was really strange. He had his arm around Sandburg's bare back, he was completely cognizant of the fact that Blair was sans clothing and yet, until Sandburg had said Jim in just that way, Ellison had been in complete control of all bodily functions and desires.

He coughed. Cleared his throat.

"Sandburg, that dog is not going with us." He patted himself on the back with a virtual back-pat on the fact that he'd barely squeaked at all.

"Jim...."

Fuck.

Bad choice of expletive.

"Give me one good reason why we should take him? Just one."

"Jim..."

"Shit. Okay, here's the deal. If the monster follows us, without encouragement, without a leash, then he can come. But we find him some other good home. Deal?"

"Deal."

Blair disentangled himself from Jim and limped to the dog who stepped aside and let him pass, then trotted happily after him. Jim stood and watched in amazement. Oh, not at the dog, but at the view.

He continued to stand there watching the man, the naked man, walk away from him and he sighed. Then he cleared his throat again.

"Uh, Sandburg?"

The man in question turned and said, "Yeah, Jim?"

Life was tough. Front end better than the rear end? Maybe he could start a small survey?

"Forget something, Skippy?'

One eyebrow arched in question.

"I'm personally in favor of your current mode of fashion, but as a cop once you step outside, I will be forced to arrest you."

Blair glanced down at himself and snickered. "Yeah? Arrest me for what? Doing an imitation of a circus clown? And my clothes have to be here someplace."

Jim gave a quick look around and sure enough, Sandburg's clothes were folded in a neat little pile on the floor in the corner. He picked them up and walked out to Blair.

"Here you go and causing a riot is why I'd have to arrest you, Chief."

Blair hobbled over to the couch and as he slipped into his shorts and jeans, he smirked and muttered, "Oh, yeah, riots. Hardy-har-har."

He was just zipping up his jeans when Jim said, "Well, the entire population of Cascade would riot if they came out their front doors and found Detective of the Year James Joseph Ellison ravaging the naked Blair Sandburg, Anthropologist, ABD. Yeah, we'd have a riot."

The zipper froze half way up.

"Hey, don't look so surprised, Chief. You're the one who licked me, remember? And offered up his tummy for a quick massage."

"Oh, sure, hold natural dog behavior against me." He said the words, but there was no bite behind them. What there was, was a twinkle in his eye. A twinkle Jim didn't miss.

"I'd be happy to show you some feline behavior, Chief."

Sandburg limped over to Jim, the twinkle taking on a life of its own. "Oh, yeah? Feel like doing it like they do it on the Discovery Channel, Jim?"

And he gave a little hip wiggle that ended with a subtle thrust of his pelvis.

"Oh, yeah. I'm thinking - doggy style."

"Oh, maaaan," Blair whined, "I just knew you'd manage some reference to my recent out of body experience."

"If the tail wags, Chief."

"Fur ball."

"Doggy breath."

"Did not have doggy breath."

"Did too."

Blair gave another thrust, this one not very subtle at all.  "You want to do this or continue the insults? I'm, um, up for both."

Jim's hand moved down to rub against the straining jeans of his partner and not the least bit embarrassed at the familiar and intimate act.  "Um, yes, you are up for both, aren't you?"

"You should talk." Blair illustrated his point by doing some rubbing of his own. Then he leaned in and whispered, "Arf-arf."

"Oh, god, Chief."

It might seem strange to some that the Sentinel of the Great City and his Shaman shared their first kiss in a witch's apartment in Cascade, Washington, but to others, par for the course.

A shove from below his brain registered with the Sentinel and he broke away from the kiss and looked down to see Macho Man trying desperately to wedge himself between the two men.

Chuckling, Blair said, "Maybe we should take this Mutual of Omaha mammal action some place else?"

Jim leaned slightly away from his new lover and smiled. "Hey, I loved that show."

"I'll just bet you did. That big, strapping zoo guy turn you on, Jim?"

"Actually, I'm a Marlin Perkins man from way back."

Blair snorted and slipping his shirt on he limped to the door, his movement soliciting a wolf whistle from Jim.

"Oh, baby, shake that tail."

"Fuck you, Jim," Blair threw over his shoulder.

"Not if I fuck you first, Darwin."

"Well, shake your booty and come on!"

***** 

They found the Volvo exactly where Blair had left it all those hours ago when he'd arrived to tutor Mindy and as Jim steered the truck through their city, he checked the mirror to ensure that the car was still behind him. He smiled as he noticed that Blair was having difficulty steering with a huge bullmastiff on his lap. The damn dog was bigger than Sandburg.

They'd already decided that Macho Man should go to Megan, who'd been complaining lately that she needed a pet. She had a large backyard and plenty of room for the dog.

Jim's only worry was tearing the animal away from Blair. Macho Man seemed to have a very human attraction for Sandburg and Jim had decided that there was room for only one Macho Man at 852 Prospect. Blair would argue which of them fit the bill.

The two cars pulled up in front of Connor's home.

***** 

Well, that went well, Jim thought as he drove home with Blair right behind him.

Macho Man had not been gracious in losing Blair. But Megan, teasing him with a huge Porterhouse steak, had won the battle.

As both vehicles turned down Prospect, Jim found himself mentally mapping out his own battle strategy. He suspected that Blair, judging from comments he'd heard at the station, could be very cagey in bed and Jim was determined to keep the upper hand. So to speak.

His strategy fell to the opposing force.

When a man is pounced upon the moment he enters his home, well, some would say that the battle, the skirmish and the war were over.

And Jim had lost. Big time.

As he lay on his big bed, an ex-dog named Blair sitting on top of him lapping up sweat and cum, he had the vague notion that perhaps winning wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Sandburg had turned out to be one hell of an aggressive lover. As they had fallen onto the bed (getting upstairs would forever remain a mystery to Ellison) they'd both sustained bruised arms, legs, chins and cheeks as they strived for position and tried to harness their passion long enough to actually do the deed.

Finally, Blair had simply taken control.

Jim had found himself pushed, pulled, maneuvered, twisted, and shifted to Blair's exact specifications and needs. And poor Jim just had to lie there and take it like a man.

Of course, downstairs, there had been the requisite discussion on who would top first (Jim did remember that), so Blair, brain trust that he was, had flipped a quarter. Jim won that one.

Which was why he was flat on his back and he still didn't understand that concept.

He'd lost, but he'd won - and he'd won, but he'd lost.

He'd definitely been the one to penetrate first, so he'd topped. But from the bottom.

And he was damn certain that at no time had he ever been in control.

He should have known that fucking Sandburg would not be simple, ordinary or typical.

Damn, he still wasn't even sure that he'd done the fucking.

"Did I win?" He asked the question for no particular reason except that he was just there, being loved within an inch of his life again, his hand idly petting the long sweaty curls of his ravisher.

Blair lifted his head from Jim's belly and smiled smugly. "Of course.  Don't you always?"

"Well, actually, and feel free to go back to what you were doing before being so rudely interrupted, don't let my lowly attempt at conversation stop you," Blair did and Jim continued, "actually, I don't believe I've won anything in the last three years. Now that I think about it. Oh, yeah, there...."

Blair's magic hands were on his legs now, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, while a very talented tongue licked at the crease between hip and thigh. He stopped just long enough to mumble against heated skin, "Whowondetectiveoftheyear?"

"Well sure, I won that, but in reality the recognition belonged to you."

Damn, he shouldn't have said that. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was one of those things. One of the things people had to talk about. And he really didn't want Blair Sandburg talking just then.

Blair stopped what he was doing and looked up at Jim, eyes wide with questions. Then he sat up. Jim groaned.

"Jim?"

And exactly when had Blair started saying his name just so?

Possessive even when questioning?

"Yes, Sandburg, I said it really belonged to you." He hitched himself up and rested his back against the rail. Sex would have to wait.

Blair scooted around and sat Indian style, his head tilted. "How do you figure?"

Jim took a deep breath. God, he hated talking. Especially when there were so many other wonderful things to do with the man sitting on the pale yellow sheets. But talk he must.

Extricate foot; insert - something else - eventually.

"Okay, look. I was a good detective before the senses kicked in, but no way in hell would I have ever won such an award. Politics and all. Loner and all."

"Right. Kissing ass is not your strong point. We agree on that. Your senses certainly have helped your detection abilities and we agree on that. So how do those two things give yours truly the award?"

"Kissing ass is one of my strong suits and when we're done talking I'll prove it, but to answer your question.  You taught me how to control my senses and how to use them, you partnered with me on every case and you contributed just as much and sometimes more.  We're a team, albeit unofficial. You are my partner and I wouldn't have solved half the cases without your contributions and input. Or without you beside me every step of the way."

Blair's eyes had widened as Jim spoke his piece and now he whispered a breathy, "Wow."

"Yeah, Chief, wow."

Blair was thinking again. Jim knew the signs all too well. He waited, hoping this thought process didn't involve books, computers or research.

"I do wield a mean baseball. And a dangerous fire hose."

"Hey, don't forget vending machines."

Blair smiled at the reference to their second case, then dipped his head down and started fiddling. A sure sign that he was worrying something to death. "Come on, Chief, spill."

"You remember after you won? Carolyn came back for a visit?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"She kind of cornered me one day." His hair dropped down on either side of his face as his fingers started making small dismissive gestures in the air. The aggressive, confident lover of just minutes before was gone and in his place, a vulnerable young man.

Jim softly whispered, "Go on."

"Oh, you know," he said vaguely, "just kind of wondered why I was still around."

"And you said?"

"Nothing really, just that I was still working on my dissertation."

There was obviously more, much more. And he had the feeling he would soon be wishing that he had Carolyn Plummer, the ex-Mrs. James Ellison, at the opposite end of his .38. But all he said was, "And?"

"She kind of said something, you know? And it wasn't true, exactly, but in a way it was."

"Clear as mud, Chief." The words were spoken gently and with all the love he possessed. Blair glanced up and smiled. "Sorry."

"She, um, said, and I'm quoting here, *No one can travel by someone else's star*. It's a pretty famous thought. I was surprised she knew it."

He met Jim's gaze with his own worried one. "It's not true, Jim. It isn't. But well, you know how I feel about merry-go-rounds versus rollercoasters and I honestly enjoy this rollercoaster and if I never get on another merry-go-round as long as I live, I'll be happy. You see?

"*You* deserve the award, Jim, and nobody else and it's nice to include me and all, and you may even believe it, but you're the sentinel and you're the detective. I'm just - along for the ride. But I don't want the - you know."

"No star shines alone, Chief."

Blair made a face and said, "Dear God," as his left eyebrow rose at least an inch. "Tell me you didn't really just say that? Tell me, please?"

Jim just gave him a cat-like smirk.

"Jesus, you did say it."

"You know, Chief, I bet a lot of people, Carolyn included think of you as a kind of tag-a-long, as just a shadow. Would you agree?"

"Jim, they don't think it, they know it. But don't get me wrong, that's the way I like it, the way it should be." Then he added, smiling, "The Guide is behind the Sentinel, which is a very safe place to be when said sentinel has nice, broad shoulders and said guide is short. Very safe, you know?"

"Chief,” Jim said very deliberately, "You're the ride."

Those expressive eyebrows knitted together as Blair pursed his lips in thought. Then, "That doesn't make sense, Jim."

"You're a smart man, think about it."

"Man, I hate it when you turn the tables on me. It's so - discombobulating."

"We're a couple now and we've been together for quite awhile, so it's only natural we'd swap traits. And I envision a future where we even start looking alike."

"You asshole. We've been together for a grand total of," he paused, checked the bedside clock and said, "One hour and twenty-two, no, twenty- three minutes. And this future where we start looking alike, would that be me getting taller and balder, or you getting shorter and hairier?"

"I refuse to dignify that with an answer."

"Riiiight."

"You are the ride, Sandburg. I realize that to most people it would appear that it was my world you joined, but looks can be deceiving."

"Gee, Jim, I haven't seen you around campus much. Have I missed something?"

"Look," he sat up and leaned over, his elbow propping him up next to Sandburg. "I've been the one doing the following. Following you. You have a hell of a lot of coats, Chief and I just hang on to the coattails and go with the Blairflow."

The look given him by Blair said it all.

"That would be very hard for you, Jim."

"It was. For a long time. I've been fighting you, Chief, fighting because I thought I was suffocating like in a sand pit and I didn't think you were helping, when in fact you were trying to pull me out."

"I suspect you thought I was adding the sand."

"It felt like that sometimes. Yeah."

Blair went back to fidgeting. "And that I was probably taking notes while you went under for the third time."

"That too."

"And that maybe I saw you as just an object to be studied. A lab rat, if you will."

Jim could almost see Blair withdrawing into himself even though he hadn't moved.

"Yes, I thought all of that. But I was wrong, Chief," he added softly.

"Yeah, you were. I'm a scientist and I had an obligation to my dissertation, but you were always more."

His heartfelt words were evident by the sudden flushing of his skin. But Jim was more concerned with something else.

"You said had, Blair."

He nodded. "Yeah, I did."

Blair still hadn't looked up and his fidgeting was taking on a life of its own as the yellow sheets were now strewn with little tufts of fur from the blue blanket.

"Chief?"

"There isn't going to be a dissertation, or at least not one on you."

"Fuck."

"We could do more of that."

"God dammit, Sandburg!"

Blair finally moved - away. He shifted to the edge of the bed, his back to Jim.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Misrepresentation, no more tit for tat, we had a deal, yadda, yadda. Except you knew I could never publish and so did I." He looked over his shoulder at Jim and smiled weakly. "The world isn't ready for you, Jim."

He stood and started for the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Down to my room. I'm tired."

Jim was out of the bed and by Blair's side in a flash. "You think I'm mad because, because of some convoluted bargain breaking thing?"

Blair faced him. "Aren't you?"

"Jesus no. This is your life we're talking about here. Your fucking career. You don't throw that away for me. You don't. Period."

Blair gazed up at him as if he were a small child who'd just touched the stove after being told it was hot. "I should throw you away instead?"

"There has to be another way, Chief. There has to be. You've worked too long for this."

"There is no other way, Jim. Not with that dissertation." He turned away, started down and added as he went, "Besides, I've been entertaining a career move."

"Sandburg, get your doggy ass back up here.  NOW!"

"I gotta take a leak."

"You're coming right back up?"

"Yeah, if you want."

"Don't be a jackass, Sandburg."

"People who live in barns and go heehaw shouldn't throw donkey turds."

Jim couldn't help it. There was no possible response to that, except to laugh - hard.

As Blair disappeared at the bottom, Jim yelled out, "You gonna tell me about this new career, Chief?"

"I'm thinking of the police academy, Jim." The bathroom door slammed shut.

"Holy shit."

***** 

Jim sat on the edge of the bed still stunned by Blair's announcement. Both of them. He could hear Blair downstairs moving about in the bathroom and mumbling to himself and Jim wanted to listen, but something stopped him.

Blair wasn't going to publish his Sentinel dissertation. Those words just kept going around and around inside his head.

No dissertation, no doctorate. Because of him.

For him.

Could he let this happen? Could he let Blair make such a sacrifice?

"Yes, Jim, you can. You must."

He glanced up quickly to see Blair standing at the head of the stairs.

"How did you know what I was--"

"Thinking? Hell, Jim, it's written all over your face. And you know it's the only way." Blair walked over to him, moved Jim's legs apart and stepped in close, his hands on both sides of Jim's face. "And I'm happy with the decision, Jim. Happier than I've been in months."

"All your life, Blair. Your entire career."

"My entire career was built around finding you. I have. Nuff said. I have my sentinel and boy howdy, do I."

"This is insane."

"Yeah, but insane is a good place to be."

Blair's fingers moved across the upturned face, over the familiar and well-loved lines of maturity, across Jim's lips, his eyes savoring every inch of the beloved face. "You haven't said anything about my new career choice."

Jim's arms tightened around Blair's waist as he rested his head against Blair's chest, his cheek rubbing softly over the curling chest hair.

"It scares the crap out of me, Sandburg. As an observer, I have some control over you, over your safety, but if you become a cop...."

Blair chuckled, his hand soothing over the back of Jim's head. "Oh, man, like, when have you ever had control over me?"

"Good point. So, you're really serious about this?"

"Yes, Jim, I am. I'd just been waiting for the right time to bring it up and well, tonight seemed to be it. I, um, well, I already filled out the application."

Jim pulled his head away from the safety of Blair's chest, from the heartbeat and gazed up in surprise. "Shit, Sandburg. You've really been thinking about this."

"Yeah. Isn't that what I've been saying? It's the right way to go. If you think, I mean, if...," his voice trailed off and Jim felt that withdrawal again even though Blair was still holding him.

Jim threw himself backwards letting Blair land on top of him, their skin sliding against each other, their lips only a few centimeters apart. Jim let his tongue slip out and swipe deliciously across Blair's lips.

"You're the best cop I know, Chief. I would be lucky and honored to have you as my permanent and official partner. In bed, at work and in every aspect of my life."

"Not to sound too needy or anything, but do you mean it, Jim?"

"I mean it. I'll talk to Simon on Monday. You've already got over three years of field service under your belt; he should be able to work out some sort of deal with regards to an accelerated class. But I warn you now."

Blair's eyes widened in uncertain anticipation of what would come next.

Jim scowled for effect, then growled out, "No matter what - you are not cutting your hair. Is that understood?"

Blair smiled in relief and gave Jim a mock salute.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And remember, I'm the senior detective in this partnership. Got that rookie?"

"Oh, yeah, you're definitely the senior partner here." Then he added, "Like that ever meant anything."

Jim's head dropped back in surrender. This was going to be - bad. And good. So very good. He smiled as Blair started to nibble at sentinel skin and let his hands trail up Blair's thighs.

God, so good.

***** 

Epilogue:

 

It had taken several days, but in that time Blair had taken care of business at Rainier and Jim had spent countless hours behind closed doors with Simon arranging Blair's entrance into the academy. His three year ride-a-long had indeed proved its worth and he would enter the short-term program which would have him graduating in less than four weeks.

The second half of the plan, by-passing patrolman status, had been a wee bit more difficult, but thankfully, Mayor Weston was a devotee of anthropologist Sandburg, who'd made it possible for the Mayor's daughter, Deidre, to pass Anthropology 101 and to finally settle down to some serious studying as well as indulging in a serious case of hero worship.

The good Mayor greased some wheels and Blair's graduation would be to detective status with Captain Simon Banks getting first dibs on the rookie.

For Jim, the ensuing weeks had been full of revelations and discoveries. As partners, the team of Ellison and Sandburg was unbeatable, but as lovers, well, Ellison had reservations about ever seeing his fortieth birthday.

While their schedules were hectic, what with Sandburg at the academy, then with Jim at the station, then studying at night and working out with Jim on the weekends, it was amazing how they had time for anything else. But then he'd underestimated Blair.

And his fertile imagination.

Copping a feel, stealing kisses, finding time and the place to do more, Blair managed it all. And Jim was startled to realize that in the last few weeks, they'd done it in or on just about every conceivable spot in and around Cascade.

Broom closets at the academy, Records at the station, the back seat of the Volvo, the front seat of the truck, the back of the truck, an alley while on the way to question a suspect, the track field at the academy at 10:30 at night, their elevator, the hall in front of their door, the lobby, Jim's bed, Blair's old bed, the sink in the kitchen and the bathroom, a quickie while Blair was at the refrigerator looking for something to pack for his lunch, another quickie in the bathroom on the toilet, which Jim had never done in his life, and the pinnacle - a not so quick quickie on Jim's desk two nights ago.

Jim was pooped.

And Blair had been right; no one had missed Miss Mindy Collins.

Life was good. Strenuous, but good.

As Jim inserted his key into the lock of #307, his arms full of tacos, flautas, taquitos and guacamole, he did give a brief thought to witches, especially angry witches, vengeful witches, but he dismissed that with the idea that one shaman in your bed was worth several angry witches.

The door swung open and juggling their dinner, he stepped in.

The loft was bathed in soft candlelight, sitar music playing in the background. Jim put the goodies down on the kitchen table and with a frown of puzzlement on his face, he walked over to where Blair sat twisted and naked on the floor.

"Uh, Chief?" His eyes widened as he watched Blair twist his head around and try to see over his left leg which was hooked around his neck. When he couldn't see Jim, he peeked under his own knee and smiled tightly.

"Hi."

"Hi back and what the fuck are you doing?"

"Oh, this? Well, you know, I was, just, well, meditating, relaxing, you know."

"Twisting your body into a pretzel is relaxing, Chief?"

"Um, well, you see, I was a dog, you know? And I'm - well, I'm pretty limber but you've probably noticed that, and once you've been a dog, um, er, well, once you've been adogandlickedyourownballs, well, you kinda want to try it again, you know?"

Jim blinked. Jim frowned. Jim smiled. Jim took off his jacket, folded it carefully and draped it across the back of the couch, then he sat down on the coffee table.

"This I gotta see."

"Um, er, well, you see, it's like this Jim. I'm kind of... stuck now, you know?"

~~finis~~

Um, will Blair ever cum unstuck? Did he ever get to lick his own balls?

And can one Shaman of the Great City beat a coven of vengeful witches?

And will Macho Man retrieve his true love or will Jim win that battle?

Who knows?


End file.
